I recently returned home after a week abroad. It hadn’t been a long trip and was very inspiring. Even though I travel a lot and love to travel, I was still very, very happy to walk into my house and feel welcomed by my surroundings. It triggered some musing about the nature of being at home.

Being home is feeling grounded in the soil of the place. In my case, the soil of the place that I have adopted as home. This soil, these trees, this wildlife may not be as exciting as somewhere else but it brings me joy.

Being home means feeling comforted within these walls, breathing easily with the atmosphere of the place I have created for myself. The softness and warmth of my cat and of the sheepskins on my chairs. The comfort of sleeping in my own bed.

Being home is knowing that my restless soul can rest in this place, that I can sit down between all these journeys of discovery and just be. Assimilate all the thoughts and impressions, integrate all the journeys.

Being home means quieting my mind and body and listening to quiet little voices. Listening to the voices in the wind and the trees, listening to the voice in my heart, the voice that says, This is your place. See, the birds welcome you, the grass welcomes you, the trees welcome you. You may rest now. Welcome back to yourself. Welcome home.

(The picture uploader isn’t working right now, will add a picture later!)

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